


Voyeuristic Tendencies

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Beholding Avatar Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: All eyes on him. Exposed, open, arched. All eyes on Martin, sweating.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 89
Collections: Anonymous





	Voyeuristic Tendencies

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago but figured some of you would enjoy a little half-monster fucking between these two lovebirds. Without further ado, enjoy.

Jon's lips are cracked, parting with ecstasy as he bears down on Martin's lap. His magnetic tape hair is a curtain both heavy and weightless, spilling out on the ground and drifting in the air. Soft, solid flesh, hard where it pierces and pulls moan after moan from lungs that no longer need to breathe, no longer desire anything but the rocking of hips up and up and faster and _faster —_

All eyes on him. Exposed, open, arched. All eyes on Martin, sweating. Soft but never weak, never relenting. Hands grip at slim hips tight enough to bruise, to declare love without words and soothe the endless buzzing that courses through Jon's head.

When he cries out Martin's name it goes grey at the edges with static. He says it again and again, a loop of primal joy intercut with digital stuttering. He no longer cares who or what hears him — or maybe he never did. Maybe he wants them all to know, to _see_ him vulnerable like this, as untouchable as ever. 

The glory of union is marked on his back, where Martin's nails left tiny red crescents; it's marked on his hips, where Martin's fingers leave bruises. The glory of his transformation marks him deep inside, throbbing and slick and obscene, where only Beholding can truly see. Where only _he_ can truly see.

Jon comes with a mechanical cry, wails wanton and utterly wrecked. He's painted from the inside in white, baptized in the viridian glow of eyes that split along the column of his throat and the expanse of his thighs. They drink in terror and pleasure in equal measure while Martin lets out a self-conscious chuckle, rubbing the back of his head.

"Er, wasn't expecting that." Martin should be afraid. Instead, he just looks mildly surprised.

Jon, what's left of him in the bottomless depths of that static ocean he calls a head — loves him for it. Adores him, even. He chuckles though it sounds tuned wrong, like some garbled satellite transmission from space.

"I'll be honest," Jon says, almost sheepish, "I wasn't expecting that, either."

**Author's Note:**

> There's sort of Beholding/Martin/Jon in there if you squint. Hope yall liked it!


End file.
